The Select (10 page)

Quinn didn't want to hope,
couldn't
allow
herself to hope.

Matt had said Tim had cooked up this
whole scheme. Why? What was his angle? She'd actually cried when
Matt told her how he was trying to help her get his spot at The
Ingraham, but she hadn't been all that surprised. This was the sort
of thing Matt would do.

But Tim...What was Tim Brown getting
out of this?

"All right," Tim said, gathering up
his papers. "Registration's in the class building. That's where
I'll be. You head for the Admissions Office and do your thing. I'll
catch up with you there."

Quinn still couldn't move. Now she was
terrified.

"What if this doesn't
work?"

"It will. Ten to one it will. But even
if not, what have you lost? By tonight you'll either be registered
here or right back where you were two weeks ago when we cooked this
thing up. And you haven't risked a thing."

"But I'll
feel
awful." And I'll
have to hustle back to Connecticut and sign my life away to the
Navy.

"Yeah, but you'd feel worse if you
never gave it a shot."

Quinn nodded. He was right. Pass this
up and she risked being plagued the rest of her life wondering if
it would have worked.

As she made herself step out of the
car, Tim said, "Good luck, Quinn."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

She walked up the slope to the
Administration Building and followed the little black-and-white
arrows planted in the grass to the Admissions Office. She paused in
the empty silent hallway outside the oak door. Her heart began to
pound, her palms were suddenly slick with sweat. Intrigue was not
her thing. How on earth was she ever going to pull this
off?

Quinn shook herself. How?
Because she couldn't afford
not
to pull it off. She stepped inside.

The Admissions Office
turned out to be a small room, fluorescent lit, with a dropped
ceiling. A long marble counter ran the width of the room,
separating the staff from the public. A woman sat at a cluttered
desk just past the counter. She appeared to be in her fifties with
a lined face, a prominent overbite, and graying hair that might
have been red once. A plastic name plate on her desk read
Marjory Lake
.

"Are—" The word came out a croak.
Quinn cleared her throat. "Are you Marge?"

The woman looked up, fixed her with
bright blue eyes, wary, not welcoming. "Some people call me that.
If you're looking for registration it's—"

"I'm Quinn Cleary," she said, reaching
her hand over the counter. "It's nice to talk to you face to face
for a change."

Marge bolted out of her seat. "Quinn?
Is that you, sweetheart? Oh, you look just like I imagined you!
Claire! Evelyn! Look who's here! It's Quinn!"

Two other women, both short, plump
brunettes, left their desks and crowded forward, shaking her hand,
welcoming her like a relative. Quinn was sure if the counter hadn't
been there they'd have been hugging her.

When all the greetings and
first-meeting pleasantries had been exchanged, Marge looked at her
with a puzzled expression.

"But what are you doing here? We
didn't...I mean...no one's..."

"I know," Quinn said. "I just decided
I wanted to be here in case someone doesn't show up."

Claire and Evelyn went "Aaawww," and
glanced at each other. Marge gripped her hand.

"I don't know how to say this, Quinn,
honey," Marge said, "but that sort of thing just doesn't happen
around here."

"I know," Quinn said. "But I haven't
anyplace else to go at the moment so I thought I'd give it a
shot."

More quick, that-poor-kid glances were
exchanged, then Marge said, "Well, might as well make the best of
it. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. You're welcome to wait
as long as you like. Want some coffee?"

Quinn would have preferred a Pepsi but
didn't want to turn down their kind offer.

"Sure. Coffee would be
great."

*

Tim showed up an hour later. Quinn
introduced him to "the girls," as they called themselves. They knew
his name—after all, they had processed his acceptance. She told
them she was going out to stretch her legs but would be back in a
while to see if there was any news.

"How's it going in there?" Tim asked
when they were outside.

"They're sweet. I feel like a rat
deceiving them like this."

"Who deceiving anyone? You're hanging
around to try and take the spot of anyone who doesn't show up.
That's an absolutely true statement."

"But—"

"But nothing. It's true. The fact that
we know something they don't is irrelevant."

They found a shady spot
under an oak by the central pond and sat on a wooden bench. The sun
was in and out of drifting clouds, the air was heavy with moisture.
A bathing sparrow fluttered its wings at the edge of the pond,
disturbing the still surface of the water with tiny ripples and
splashes. Off to her left Quinn saw a parade of sweaty new arrivals
lugging suitcases, boxes, and stereos into the dorm. She looked
around and was struck by how
planned
The Ingraham looked. The
dorm, the caf, the administration, class, and faculty buildings
were all two stories, all of similar design and color. And off to
her right, up the slope, rose the science building; and rising
beyond that, the medical center. Each set higher than the one
before it, like steps to knowledge and experience.

"Where do you fit into this,
Tim?"

He swiveled on the bench and faced
her. She wished he'd take off those damn sunglasses. She wanted to
see his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's in it for you? You
don't know me. Sure, we've met a couple of times, but we're not
what you'd call close by any stretch. Why should you care if I get
into The Ingraham?"

He smiled. "I'm the
compleat altruist. My
raison d'etre
is to help others. That's why I want to become a
doctor."

"Not."

"You doubt my devotion to
the human species? Okay, try this: I'm hoping that my
getting
you
into
The Ingraham will help
me
add you to my near endless list of beautiful
female conquests."

"Very funny."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short. I
think you're a knockout. And you've got a very nice
butt."

"And you need glasses," Quinn said.
She was annoyed now. "I ask you a simple question..."

She pushed herself off the bench to
head back to the Admissions Office. This was dumb. Tim's hand on
her arm stopped her.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Forget
everything I just said— except the part about your having a nice
butt—"

"Tim..."

"Well, I meant that. But
as for the rest of it..." He paused, as if searching for the right
words. "Look. Places like The Ingraham, they're systems. A bunch of
nerdy little dorks get together and figure out a way to set
someplace up so they can push all the buttons, pull all the levers,
call all the shots—run the show. They've got the bucks, that gives
them power, and they think they can make everybody jump through
their hoops. But they couldn't make Matt jump. With his family's
kind of clout, he can tell
them
to go jump. People like you and me, though,
Quinn...if we want to get into their system, when they say jump,
we've got to ask, 'How high?'"

"That's the way the world works, Tim.
You can't change that."

"I'm not saying I can. But I make it a
point to screw them up every chance I get."

"Oh," Quinn said slowly, wondering if
she should feel insulted. "And I suppose helping me get into The
Ingraham is screwing them up."

Tim slumped forward and rested his
forehead on his forearms. He spoke to the grass. "This conversation
is heading for the tubes. Maybe we should just go back to saying
that I thought it was a shortcut to adding another notch in my, um,
belt and leave it at that."

"No," Quinn said softly. "You're going
out of your way to do me a favor. We've only met three times,
talked on the phone a few more. Can you blame me for being curious
as to why? TANSTAAFL, remember?"

Tim lifted his head. The blank
sunglasses stared at her again.

"Fair enough. Okay. I like you. I like
you a lot."

Quinn felt herself
flushing. Now she
really
wished she could see his eyes.

"And I don't know of
anyone," he continued, "who wants to be a doctor more than you. I
mean, it shines from you. And with your MCAT scores and GPA, I
can't think of anyone—with the possible exception of
myself—who
deserves
to be a doctor more."

"Really, Tim—"

"No, I mean it. And I was pissed,
really pissed, when I heard that these jokers had turned you down.
Not as pissed as Matt, of course. I mean, he wanted to nuke the
place. Neither of us could figure it out. Every other med school
you applied to took you, but not The Ingraham. Why? What is it
about you that doesn't fit into their system? Was it because you're
female? Do they have something against nice butts?"

"
Please
stop talking about my butt!"
She did
not
have
a nice butt or a nice anything. "Can't you be serious for two
consecutive minutes?"

"I'll try, but...I don't know,
Quinn...show me an anal-retentive system like this one that's
screwing somebody I know and it's like waving a red flag in front
of a bull. I want to beat that system."

"So, if you're Don Quixote, who am I?
Sancho Panza?"

"Hardly. Take the casinos
as a for instance. They're a system. They set up the rules so that
the percentages are always with them. Somebody wins big once in a
while, but that's the exception. They publicize those exceptions to
bring in more losers. But systems aren't set up for wild cards. I'm
a wild card. Their blackjack system has no contingencies for
someone with an eidetic memory. Fortunately for them, we're rare
birds. But with my memory, I can screw up their system and
win
most of the time
instead of
lose
."

"But The Ingraham is not a
casino."

"Right. But it's a system. And Matt is
the wild card here. His family's got—pardon the phrase—fuck-you
money. He qualified, they accepted him, but they can't buy him.
They can buy you and me, Quinn. We'll gladly put up with their
bullshit rules for a free medical education. Hell, we'll fight for
it. We need them. But Matt doesn't. He's the chink in their armor.
How many people did you say have turned them down?"

"Two in the last ten
years."

"Right. But they're well prepared for
that contingency anyway: they've set up a highly qualified waiting
list. But I'll bet they've got no contingency plan for what Matt's
going to do." His expression was gleeful as he pounded his knees.
"And that's when we stick it to them."

"Tim Brown...radical."

"Not a bit," he said, raising his
hands, palms out. "I'm not out to destroy anything, or throw a
monkey wrench into anybody's works. The whole idea is to stick it
to them without them even knowing they've been stuck. If you cause
noticeable damage, or you make a big deal about it and strut
yourself around bragging how clever you are, you queer it for the
next wild card. Because they'll fix that weak spot in their system.
But if everybody keeps their mouths shut, someone may get a chance
to stick it to them again."

"Is sticking it to them so
important?"

"How important is it to you right
now?"

"Touche."

"All right. Then let's do it." He
checked his watch. "Registration's pretty well closed. Any minute
they ought to be realizing they're shy one body."

She headed back to the Admissions
Office feeling anxious, scared, thinking about Tim and how he was
turning out to be a lot deeper than she'd originally thought, and
wondering if he really thought she had a nice butt. She knew she
didn't, but there was no accounting for taste.

"Don't you have to unload?" she said
as Tim ambled by her side.

"We'll unload together. This plan is
my baby. I want to be present in the delivery room."

*

Quinn sensed the change in the
Admissions Office as soon as she walked through the door. The air
was charged. Claire and Evelyn were trundling about between their
desks and the file cabinets. Marge look frazzled. Her eyes went
wide when she saw her.

"Quinn! We've just heard from
registration. They're getting ready to close up and somebody hasn't
shown up. I can't believe it. I've been here ten years and nothing
like this has ever happened."